The Life and Times of Megan Wolfe
by Mad-Hatters-Apprentice
Summary: This is the story of one Megan Wyvan, Code name Megan Wolfe. A new and special operative, specificly chosen by Cherub as their new shining star. A girl with a dark past can she find the family she needs at C.H.E.R.U.B.? Listed humour but so much more.
1. Chapter 1

CLANG!

The hollow noise reverberated around the miserable concrete cell.

Arrrr!!

My scream echoed down the corridor.

'Girl if you don't stop kicking those bars we'll shove you in with the loobies in cell block 4 and see how you like things.'

CLANG!

My kick to the metal bars was less vicous this time and defeated I sank back down onto the metal frame I would be using as my bed, twisting my nose ring angrily.

'Shut up Pig!' My grey-green eyes flashed with fury. 'Whatever happened to my one phone-call, huh?'

The uniformed officer just smirked, 'Who did you want to call love? Your shirt says you're one of those street punks. We already used your one phone-call to call the C.P.S.'

My jaw dropped, the fresh twin snakebite piercings scraping across my lower teeth. 'Child Protective services?' I choked out.

But the policeman had already walked away, continuing his rounds.

I sniffed, fighting back my tears of rage. How dare they call those morons on me again? It took me 2 weeks to get out last time! Grinning I ran my scarred hands through my silver blonde hair. No matter, i thought to myself, I've done it before I can do it again no problem. At least I have a rendezvous point this time.

The cop came back and slid a tray in to the cell, a soggy ham sandwich and mouldy apple rested on a paper plate but i ate it thankfully. One perk of holding cells, better food then i'd had all week.

After I ate i paced for a while, went to the toilet that was placed unceremoniously in the corner of the room, and washed the tattered black tee I wore in the sink. Hanging it over the bedframe to dry and laying down in my denim jeans and stain-yellow tank top.

My tee shirt was barely dry by the time the rep for the C.P.S. came by. The role of the Child Protective services is to take in orphans or homeless children and teens and place them in safe foster homes across the country. They were provided with education, a safe home and a kind family.

I have all of that, i thought.

'Megan Wyvan. Why is it that you manage to get caught only when I'm on shift? You really must like our get togethers.' The man was tall and lean. Greasy black hair was slicked across his head in a miserable attempt at a combover. His suit, worn to give him a sense of power, only made him look more like a member of the mafia and less like a government representative. A prickly moustache rested on his lip like a dead mouse and his face was contorted in a way that reinforced this image.

I grinded her teeth together. 'Chandler.'

'Mr. Pierce.'

I grinned. 'No Chandler my name is Meg.'

His eye twitched, 'Follow me.' I followed, my boredom overpowering the natural fight-or-flight reflex.

We were passing through the police station pavilion now. Chandler stopped beside the front desk and proceded to sign the usual papers needed to get me out. Behind the desk was the officer who had been attending me since I came in. His hat was off and his blonde hair was oily with sweat. 'Good luck girl.' He said warmly.

'What's that supposed to mean?' He chuckled.

'It took my brother three years to get out of the gang, I hope you have better luck, you're smart, you know as well as I do this life is gonna' be the death of you.' I just shook my head angrily.

'The Falcons are my family. They're the reason I'm alive. If you ever talk about them like that again, I'll kill you. Your brothers a deserter, not lucky, stupid.' With that I turned on my heels and stalked off to find Chandy's car.

Looking around I knew it would be futile so I sat on the cold concrete steps outside the station. That seemed to be the lay of the land here. Concrete, cold, unwelcoming.

'The board wasn't impressed with your last little stunt.' Came a whiney familiar voice behind me.

I smiled remembering quite clearly the event he was inferring. The Great Heist, as my honorary little brother called it.

'Well the World news would say otherwise. It wasn't off the front page for a good few weeks. No solid evidence to convict me I guess.' I was now being led towards a black BMW parked illegally in a handicapped zone.

'Looks like I'm not the only one doing illegal things Chandler, last time I saw you I distinctly remember a beat up old mini.'

The C.P.S. rep reached in his pocket and pulled out a car remote. The headlights on the BMW flashed and I opened the door and slid comfortably into the front seat. Chandler strode to the other side and climbed awkwardly into the drivers seat, his lanky height meaning he had only an inch of space between his head and the roof.

I rubbed my coarse hands together, obviously feigning excitement. 'So tell me Chandy,' using the obnoxious nickname for my case handler, 'Where are we off to today, the Coromandel, Timaru or the West Coast. I must say I did like Keri Keri but I feel like Christchurch is calling me back, you know?'

If I had a dollar for every foster home I'd been to I would be the richest 15 year old in New Zealand. But even when they sent me to Stewart Island I stil managed to get back to the gang in Auckland.

'Somewhere new this time. You're being housed in a C.i.p.s home until we can figure out a place you'll be safe in.' By that he meant a place I couldn't break out from.

'Better make it Guantanamo baby, even then you better warn security.' I wasn't using a hyperbole. See I did learn things in school, and not just how to forge signatures.

Ignore my sarcasm, well try it happens more often than not. I actually passed all my qualifications 5 years in advance. This only helped my numerous escape attempts.

The rest of our short ride passed in silence, at least the first part did. Once the car coasted to a stop I unbuckled my seat belt absentmindedly, not even taking in my surroundings. 'Chandy, where the Fuck are we?' Well now I took it in, we were at an outlet mall, a huge second hand store if you will.

'You'll be at your new home for a while, the board are providing you with your backup of allowance that accumulated while you were… away.' He handed me two fifty dollar notes. For all those Americans out there, and Brits. 50 New Zealand dollars is roughly 25 dollars in you currency but is A LOT in ours. I was like a kid in a candy store, a teenage girl in a mall. Ok maybe not that enthusiastic.

'Oh my god! I want this so much! And this! Oh and two of these! Do you think the C.I.P.s home would let me bring knuckle dusters? Oh how much is this? Oh wow! Chandy does this make my hips look big?'

In his defense he did follow me around the whole time. Albeit with his head tilted back in defeat, moaning audibly every so often. By the end of the trip I had a Black and grey camouflaged snow jacket, four plain Short sleeve tees, 2 in black 2 in green, a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a pair of brand new asics* sweatpants. To top it all off I had found a large tramping backpack in the army surplus store, best of all it had a sleeping bag hidden in the base.

I gratefully took the $20 change form the intimidated teller. I felt pretty bad for her, I usually have that affect on people. With my twin snakebite hooped piercings in my bottom lip, tiny metal stud in my left nostril, messy grey-blonde hair I tended to look threatening. The black tee with my gangs insignia splayed across the front didn't hurt any either. A silver knife dripping with glistening red blood. The blade of the knife a slightly bent bird's feather. Kay Street Falcons. Responsible for most of the violence in the area, and most recently, for a 3 million dollar heist. That one I took credit for, like Paul and Carlo could ever take credit for it, they barely knew how to turn the laptop on, let alone hack into the National Banks Mortgage data base. Good times, good times.

I threw my hoard into the boot of Chandlers car and climbed back in, slamming the door with enough force to rock the car. I'd just read a sign above me. Motorway 5km. Great. Do you know how hard it is for a girl to hitchhike down a motorway? Impossible that's how. I was in for a long ride, with Chandy. God save me.

Thankfully though the next few hours passed in a semi-awkward silence. Semi as this seemed to be the norm with me and my case worker who would pick me up every two weeks or so. Sooner now that they knew I would be on my way back to Auckland.

I was awoken from my stupor as the car shuddered to a stop. Trees everywhere, I groaned. I hate trees. Trees meant no immediate bus routes. Terrific.

'Out you get.' My case worker said, leaning down to pull the trunk release button.


	2. Chapter 2

I just sat in a stoney silence. Chandler got out of the car and pulled out my pack. I was still seated when my car door opened and he grabbed my arm, pulling me onto my feet.

We were in the bush. Tall pine and kauri trees surrounded a gravel oval. In the middle of the clearing there was a large white house but not the sort you would expect in these surroundings. Instead of a small cottage like home this was a mansion.

Modern and edgy with perpendicular and parallel lines everywhere. A feit of modern architecture that seemed to rise from the ground on an angle then twist back in the opposite direction. It towered over me, a huge three story building that stopped just below the mass of branches overhead. The first thing I noticed though was the lighting. Holes had been meticulously carved into the leafy roof overhead, like skylights, light poured into the clearing and lit up the clean white building. It was…. Welcoming.

Chandler smiled and ran his hand across his head. Flattening his hair closer to his balding skull.

Knock knock knock.

The sound sent chills down my spine. It seemed to echo behind the door. I could se the doorknob turning and instinctively my feet slid into a crouching stance, a fighters stance.

Graceful, the first word that comes to mind. Deadly, the first word that came to mine.

Her jet black hair came down in a tilted bob, shorter on her left side than her right, ending just below her cheekbone. Her eyes were a dull blue, scoping me up and down between blinks. A cotton silk blouse and black pencil skirt. Pretty. If you could look past the scar on her neck. Long and deep. Pinking with age but startling against her ghoustly pale skin.

'Mr. Pierce.' She sang, nodding at Chandler.

'Please Jemma, its simply Chandler to you.' Gag. You could practically hear the lust in his voice. Ew.

'You must be Megan my dear.'

'Meg.' I snorted.

She smiled warmly, 'Ok my dear, if you step inside one of the other children will be able to help you find an empty room of your choice, I'm certain you'll like the living arrangements here.' Every word was said out of compassion but to me it was dripping with Malice. You may not have noticed but I'm a little apprehensive when it comes to trusting people. Even so I stepped into the hallway.

Jemma turned smiling and waved her hand, shooing me away. I left the adults standing at the door and wandered around the mansion.

The modern décor was repeated around the bottom floor of the house. I was staring in wonder at the white on white living room when I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. 'You must be Meg.'

It was a male voice, young, 17 maybe. Soft and delicate. I turned.

And gasped. He was stuning. He was short, only half a head taller than me, he appeared to be 16 but I could tell from the stubble on his chin that he was 17 like my first assumption. His hair was short and dissheveld, black and curly. He was slim but I could see from his stance that he was a fighter, against all appearances beating him in a fair fight would be a challenge, not impossible but a challenge. He was tan and his dark brown eyes were warm and comforting. A heartthrob as Miley would say. But judging from his Black skinny jeans and Gas© Collared shirt he was batting for the other team. Shame.

'Y-yes. ' I stammered, ok so I wasn't 100% certain he was gay.

He grinned, showing off a perfect set of glittering white teeth. 'Kyle, Redman.'

'I'd tell you my name now but-'

'- I already know it.' He winked and pulled my backpack easily from my arms. 'Let me show you round.'

'Whatever.' I said nonchalantly, at least I tried, it sort of came out as sigh. Damn hormones.

ON his Tiki tour I was instantly taken aback at how well he knew the place. 'Aren't you a little old to be a foster kid?' We were climbing a flight of plexiglass stairs to the next level.

'Yeah, I just turned 18 so I've left the system. Jemma fostered me for the last year though and still lets me stay here. She fosters, about, five kids every time. Sorta like an unofficial family for these kids.'

'But you're not a New Zealander.' Kyle tripped over his next step and almost face-planted on the landing.

'How'd you know that?'

I shrugged and kept walking, 'You were straining to get your words out, like you're holding back an accent or something.'

He chuckled nervously, 'You're good, I thought I had that act down. I'm from England, New Hampshire, originally, but all my family were here, emphasis on the "were" part.'

'My bad, sorry for bringing up bad memories.'

'So what are you in for?'

'Grand theft.' I stammered, still overwhelmed by his pure hotness.

'Really.' He didn't sound surprised, maybe this was where they sent the troubled kids. 'I meant your situation.'

Now it was my turn to stop. He turned around, confused as to my sudden silence.

'I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that.' He was biting his lip. Which wasn't helping the "don't swoon over the gay guy" attempt.

'Then I won't. Hey weren't you showing me around.'

'Yeah, yeah I was.' We were on the second floor now, this décor was entirely different from downstairs but the floor plan was exactly the same. Couches downstairs that were white leather were in the same position here but were old green fabric. Whereas the downstairs had been speck free this place looked like a student flat. Empty pizza boxes coated the table, wires and cables were in a tangled mess behind the tv cabinet. Two young boys, maybe 10 or 11 were sprawled out on the two couches playing xbox. The sound effects muted once they saw us. 'Hey Kyle, good job now we can play two on two.' This boy had long shoulder length blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. His clothes looked brand new, a simple green polo shirt and denim jeans. His friend looked younger then him and was wearing a red polo shirt. The polar opposite of the other he remained silent. His moss green eyes surveying me behind their veil of brown hair. His fringe only half hid a vanishing black eye, purpling with age.

'Who's she?' The blonde one scoffed.

Kyle threw my pack down and pulled me forward, holding my hand softly. 'This is Meg.'

'We had the rules sorted Kyle. No girls. Not even your girlfriend.'

My blood rose to my cheeks and I bit down hard on my lip, trying to regain control over my bodily functions. 'She's not my girlfriend, Tom.' That shouldn't have stung but it did. Megan Redman. Mrs. Megan Kyle Redman. Stupid hormones.

'You mean she's another Foster?' Tom.

That's it, I'm sick of this. 'Yes, she is. And you should both know that when people are talking about me, especially in the same room, I prefer that I'm involved in the conversation.'

I wasn't expecting Kyle to tilt back his head and start guffawing like an idiot. I was expecting Tom's reaction though of open mouthed gaping.

I get this a lot.

Then the the brunette poked in. 'I'm done, Kyle can take my spot.' His voice was soft, angelic. But when he stood up I saw something sickening. His Polo shirt was loose and floaty but when he turned you could see the curve of his ribs poking into the fabric. His arms, thin twigs and his neck dangerously skinny. Kyle heard me softly gasp beside him and squeezed my hand harder.

'Thanks Terry but I'm actually showing Meg around so maybe later, kay?'

He smiled adoringly at Kyle, 'Okay, later then.' He slouched out of the room, for some reason I felt like that was more of his word quota then normal. Tom just shrugged and turned back to the t.v., already absorbed by a shoot-em-up game.

Kyle tapped the palm of my hand and grabbed my backpack, walking into the adjoining hallway. There were 4 doors along the corridor. One of the doors to my left was locked and loud rock music was blasting behind it. 'Terry's room.' Kyle nodded to my questioning glance. 'He's here cause his parents were druggies, the rest… well I take it you saw. He doesn't talk much anymore.'

'Tom?' I choked out.

'Room across from Terry.' He replied instantly.

'No. Why is Tom here?'

'Parents dead. Cancer. No relatives. Here we are.' He'd stopped at the room right at the end on the right. The door was closed.

He must've seen on my face that I couldn't open the door, he pushed it open himself. It was a prison cell. A pink prison cell. God save me.

It was a medium sized room, large for my standards. What irked me was the use of hot pink paint for the walls. This along with the pink bedspread draping the white double bed and pink satin fabric across the white wooden duchess nearly caused me an aneurism. Of all the places I needed to flee from, this one took the cake.

'Hahahahahaha.'

'What?'

'Your face.' He choked out between his guffaws. His face screwed up into a shocked, disgusted expression. It took me a few moments to realize he was impersonating me.

'Can't I have a different room?' I groaned.

'Nope, you'll hurt Jemma's feelings. She set this up especially for you once she heard about your situa-' He broke off, looking away ashamedly.

'My situation?' I guessed.

He paused. 'Yeah.'

I walked into the pink room and gulped, not because of the topic at hand but due to the… pinkness. 'So you know then?'

Another long pause. 'Yeah. Yeah I do.'

'Then why'd you ask about it before?' My hand ran over the downy bedcover and rested on the pillow. 'I don't trust you.'

Kyle flinched. I spoke my mind a lot, and to damn with the consequences.

'Where to next?' I asked, my previous statement forgotten only by myself but strangely Kyle grinned.

'Upstairs.'

I slid towards him, my confidence growing. 'I dunno, if that's your room we might need supervision.' I winked at his astonished expression.

He regained composure and leant towards me, his face inches from mine his lips parted. 'You're forgetting you're not legal. Maybe next year, huh?'

I shivered as his warm breath brushed my lips. 'Then what's upstairs? Alien experimentation room? Freezer where you keep the bodies?'

He leaned back and pushed his hands into his pockets, shaking his head, amused. 'Sadistic much? You'll have to wait and see. It's the best room in the house.' He chuckled, 'You know, except of course the pink paradise we have here.'

I would have hit him, but instead I grimaced at the prospect of spending the rest of my stay here in this room. To think pink had once been my favourite colour. Oh the errors of childhood.

Kyle threw my bag on the bed. 'Judging from that it won't take us long to unpack, then I'll show you.'

He was right. It took me less then two minutes to sort my belongings into the duchess. 'Lets go.' I said, tucking my backpack under the bed. Kyle opened the door and leaned back arms spread in the universal sign of 'ladies first'.

I stalked out of the room and once Kyle followed me I slammed the door with all the force I could muster. BANG! Which was a lot.

'What the hell?!' I turned, Tom and Terry had poked their heads out of their respective rooms. 'Saw the room huh? What do you think?' Tom asked kindly.

'What the fuck do you think?' I stalked off towards a staircase at the end of the hall, away from Tom and Terry. Echoes of loud laughter followed my angry steps.

'Stop.' Kyle hiccupped behind me. Before covering my eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyle, Cherub and other Cherub characters, I do however own Meg, all original charcters and the story line, steal them and ill FREAKING KILL YOU!!! Thank you for your time.**

'**Stop.' Kyle hiccupped behind me. Before covering my eyes.**

Instinct kicked in and before I could stop myself my leg lifted and turned in a flawless roundhouse kick. SMACK! I opened my eyes, I hadn't even realized I had shut them. Kyle held my ankle, inches from his temple. 'What was that for?' He was indignant.

I tugged my ankle from his grasp. 'Sorry, instinct.' He shrugged, whatever, he seemed to say. 'Can we go up now?'

'Ok but can you let me blindfold you without an attempted murder?'

'Ha,' I choked out, 'didn't I just tell you? I don't trust you. You've already lied to me once and now you won't even tell me where we're going! You can try but I will probably kill you.' What I didn't tell him is that he unnerved me. He'd lied to me already, in a way that suggested he was trying to gain information and now he had stopped a swift and perfectly aimed roundhouse kick. A blow that would have rendered him unconscious, best case scenario.

That required more then basic self defense, it required years of training.

After a long pause he finally sighed and pushed in front of me, 'Ok, but you're killing my fun, you know that?'

'No issues.' I stated and followed him up the second story steps.

A heavy redwood door locked the next room. He opened his mouth but I beat him to it. 'I will NOT close my eyes.' He sighed and pushed the door open, I took a step inside.

Pure heaven. The only words to describe its… greatness.

The one room took up the entire third floor. The floor was wooden and the walls, mirrors all around. Along one wall was a selection of weights, the other, treadmills and cross trainers. The third and fourth corners were taken up by Rowing machines and boxing bags. But my favorite section, the centre of the room. A giant boxing ring. I was in love. 'Can I move my bed in here?' I gasped. Of course, that was once I regained control over my oxygen intake.

Kyle walked forward with his arms spread above him. 'Beautiful isn't it?'

I didn't answer him, I just moved towards the left and walked up to a solid boxing bag. Palm met leather and I sighed. Maybe I could stay here for a while. At least until I was sent to a permanent foster home.

I heard shuffling behind me. Turning I could see Kyle where I left him. But two small faces were peeking at me around the corner. 'No one but Kyle uses this room. He knows karate.' The blonde boy piped up, proud of his big brother figure.

'Is that so,' I said sweetly, 'then would he be up for a match? What do you think Terry? Think he's up to it?' I leaned to get a proper view of the brunette. He just shrugged and looked inquisitively at Kyle. I imitated the young boy, interested to see his reaction. To my surprise he was already taken his shirt off and was walking towards a set of drawers behind the cross-trainers. He reached in and grabbed two sets of boxing wraps and two pairs of heavily padded gloves.

'No head shots. No cheap groin shots. A pin or 50 points to win.' He turned to me. 'What?'

I was staring at him. My face painted with confusion. 'Why can't we fight bare-handed?'

'Can't have bruises on us when the C.P.S. guys come around now, can we?'

I nodded and stepped forward to get my gear. Then I started to takeoff my pants.

'Woah! What the fuck are you doing?' I looked up, Kyle was staring at me as if I was insane and the two boys that had shifted into the room were staring at me with conflicting expressions. Terry's matching Kyle's and Tom's, excited anticipation.

I rolled my eyes. 'Get over yourself Kyle. You're scorching hot but not enough to tempt me.' He pursed his lips. 'I'm not giving you an unfair advantage. I've got gym shorts on as boxers, stupid.'

A minute later the two boys were sitting in folding chairs beside the ring. Kyle and I were in the ring, me stripped down to my white singlet and black boxers, Kyle shirtless with red gym shorts on. Both of us barefoot, wearing wraps concealed under matching red padded gloves. May I point out that Kyle shirtless was an amazing sight. His stomach tight with abs and arms straining with muscles. His smug grin ruined the affect though, he was underestimating me. He'd regret that. I was aut to signal a start when a though came to me.

'Kyle! Before we start how bout making this a little more interesting?'

'What you have in mind?' Again with the cocky smile.

'Winner gets 10 questions.' Kyle looked elated at the idea.

'Deal, bring it girly.'

Tom chuckled at my intense expression and held up a small gong and stick. 'Began.' He shouted and hit the gong.

Kyle and I simultaneously dropped into a practiced fighting stance. I planned on using his weight against him and to do that I needed to be in close quarters, I lunged. Hitting the ground two meters from Kyle and rolling towards his ankles. He lashed his leg out to kick my shoulder. I ducked under and swept my legs out in a circle knocking his feet from under him. He twisted and fell onto my chest. God I was rusty! I jarred my knee up and around, pushing Kyle off me. We fell side by side and jumped up together. Slam, his fist was blocked by my palm. We traded blows, neither landing a hit for a few moments, then I sensed an opening. My uppercut slammed into his solar plexus and he doubled over in pain moments before my foot connected with his ribcage, knocking him onto his feet. Before he could retaliate I landed on top of him and used one hand to grab his wrists and lock them together above his head, my knees pinning his legs down. 'I win.'

'You know karate?' He panted. Woops, I was still on his chest. As soon as I rolled off Kyle started gasping for air. 'Jesus you're heavy.'

'I resent that.'

'So do you?' Terry and Tom were animatedly reinacting the fight already.

'Among other things, I'm a Judan*, or tenth level black belt. You?'

'Kudan*, I get Judan next week. What else do you know?' I go the same feeling I had in the bedroom, like this was more an interrogation then a simple conversation. Finally I decided that I was simply being melodramatic.

'Judo, Jujutsu, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Muay Thai.'

'No wonder I lost.' Men; can't accept defeat.

It took me a few moments to realize that Kyle and I were still lying side by side in the ring. It took me a shorter period to notice how close together we were, our knees, toes, touching. Sparks.

Kyle cleared his throat and rolled away from me, pulling himself up to sit with his arms wrapped around his knees. 'Are you gay?' The word vomit spewed out before I could stop it. Another of me fabulous qualities, an inability to filter what I'm thinking.

Kyle just looked at me confused, 'I guess so.'

What sort of answer is that? I _guess _I'm gay!? 'What does that mean? Are you Bi?'

Kyle just shrugged. 'Do we have to talk about this, I just met you?'

'Sorry.'

'That's three questions down by the way.' He was grinning again but it was fake.

'Why are you in C.P.S.?' It was the question I needed an answer to but Tom and Terry instantly looked up nervously.

Terry spoke this time. 'Kyle doesn't like talking about it.'

'He has to.' I stated, the wager was solid. 'Go on, tell me.'

'Ok, but that's personal so it counts as 3.'

'Unfair!'

'Take it or leave it,' he shrugged. I nodded and he started his story.

'My mum left after I was born, never wanted a kid I guess. Dad didn't talk about her. He was my sensei see so I got my Belts early on in life, aye.' He looked extremely uncomfortable. 'My training was complete at around 9. Now my dad had always liked to drink I had just never noticed how much. He started coming in at night smashed and pounded on me. Some of the worst times I would hide before he came home, under my bed or in the cupboard. He always found me. He was angrier when I hid from him, those beatings were the worst. Never went to the hospital though. I think my teachers knew what was going on. I used to show up to class black and blue with broken ribs and arms. Never reported it though.' It had been the same for my teachers. They preferred to stay out of it. 'The last straw though was when I had my friend, James, over. He was 8 and I was 10. Dad got mad and threw a bottle at James. It knocked him out cold. I was so angry.' His voice was shaking. 'I threw the bottle back at my dad, I thought I'd just knocked him out, he had an aneurism. I killed him.'

Tom and Terry were staring at him, their jaws open wide. It was obvious that they had never heard this story told aloud. My mind was going a million thoughts a second. Kyle had killed his father. I had killed my step father. Kyle had no family. I had no family. Kyle had been through the same things I had, we shared a common life. This was going to take a while to process. 'That'll be sufficient for now. I still have 4 questions left.'

'That you do, shoot.' His voice was still shaking from long quashed anger.

'You said you lived in New Hampshire. How does that fit in?'

'Lived there before with dad before he came here to teach. Three left.'

'How long have you lived with Jemma?'

'Since I was 10, so 7 and a half years now I guess.'

'You don't look seventeen.'

He glared at me, 'That's a sore point, don't mention a dudes height.'

'Or Lack thereof.' I giggled. 'Where do you go to school?' I had run out of questions now, the one I wanted desperately to ask was too personal.

Kyle grinned and stood up, stretching to his full height, wincing and clutching his ribcage. 'Finally, the right question. Terry, Tom and I, oh and now you, are homeschooled by Jemma. You start tomorrow, a few tests to start with and then she'll set your coursework out for you. And the last question?'

I couldn't think of anything. 'I think I'll save it for another day. A truthful answer is hard to get, but we have a solid deal.'

Someone cleared their throat behind us. Jemma, god, does everyone in this house move so silently!?

'That was great Megan,' Meg, I shouted in my head, 'You really know your art. I wonder what you're like in the classroom though, I don't take disruptions well.' She said it humourously but I got the idea that she wasn't joking.

'When do I start?' I wanted to lull her into a false sense of security, think that I wanted to be here before I flew the coop. Sure enough she looked a little unnerved.

'As soon as you're ready. I wouldn't want to push you into anything.'

Liar. 'As soon as possible, I really miss school.' Well I am too but it's the morals behind the lie.

Even Kyle looked shocked now, I'm a very believable actor.

'We'll start tomorrow then. For now, Tom, Terry, you were supposed to be in bed by now, it's a school night and its already half past nine.' She was so indignant, I laughed. 9:30? Jordan, the honorary little brother I told you about, he goes to bed every night at 1:30 in the morning.

Well bed is a loose term, he really crashes on the couch he's so tired. Good parenting skills, no?

Now your probably wondering why some foster kids live like Kyle and stay in Foster care and some end up like me, Tyson and Jordan, street thugs, runaways. Well the truth is that there is a dark underside to the foster system. For every good caregiver, like Jemma, there's two bad ones. Foster parents in the system get paid a weekly allowance for every kid they look after. The bad ones are people who look after us for the money and then use it for themselves. The money that's supposed to go towards food, education and anything else we need is used for themselves. An example you ask? My first 'parent', in the loosest sense of the word, used my money for drugs, then beat me when they were high. Good first impression my ass.

After that I guess I lost faith in the system, and the police. Even Jones thought I was lying for attention, they were a good couple with a clean record. Jones was the one who found me that day, five years ago.

So I ran. And I got caught. And I ran again. And guess what?

Its been like that for a few years, I lived on the streets for a good couple of years alone. Stayed in hostels and abandoned buildings. It was in one of these derelicit buildings that I met Tyson. Or Ty for short. Ty was my age, 13 at the time. He was gorgeous, his black as cobalt hair falling straight, past his eyes, spiked in the back. His clothes as tattered as mine but still somehow tidy. And his voice, like an angel calling you to heaven, so sweet. 'Who the fuck are you?' Ok perhaps not an angel's choice of words.

'Silver.' I gave my street name, a name I'd got from the mongrel mob I did deliveries for. They'd named me for my silver green eyes. And no, I didn't know what was in the packages I delivered but I can safely say they weren't legal. I was the best in the business.

'Ty.' He said sitting on the concrete floor beside me.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship that slowly grew to more, to the point I still wore the promise ring he gave me as my nose-ring. We both ran in Auckland for rival gangs and both of us felt ashamed for helping addict kids to these drugs we were running. So we broke away from the gang and started our own. Although Tyson insisted on calling it a 'club' so to avoid the association with gangs and drugs. In the first two months we took in eight other kids, all under fourteen and all likeTy and I, former fosters running from the system. We were the Kay Street Falcons. Now you know why that officer offended me. He had insulted my life, insinuated that we're just a gang, we WERE a family. Some kids came in looking for trouble and the 'real gang experience'. They lied and said they were ex-fosters, like that cops brother probably had.

We didn't run drugs, or steal from the poor or elderly but we were a wealthy gang, to the point where the Kay Street Falcons owned 20 safe houses across Auckland, damn fine houses too. The nicest was the one The Council lived in. The Council was Ty, a couple of the old crew and Me. And of course my baby, Jordan. We were the ones in charge of the… less legal side of the Falcons.

Legal side:

Raves

Organized under 18 parties

Sausage sizzles

Car washs

But that's just a cover for the…

Not technically altogether the perfect definition of Legal Side:

Boat De-Decking

Car Jacking

Bank heists

Boat De-decking is a word we made up to describe what we do. We take jobs at the loading docks in and around Auckland, then we take a little of the products off the side and sell them on at cost.

We stole high quality cars from expensive lots. No theft from a singular individual is tolerated. We stick to big business, sorta like twisted charity in a way. I used to handle that side of things, I was good at B&E but I moved on to something no one else could do.

Bank Heists.

This wasn't the Hollywood, run into a bank fire a gun in the air, we were smarter then that. We got our adult coordinator Aaron Taylor to assist. Most of our less then legal activities required some adult assistance. Perhaps the best way to describe this is the most recent, and perhaps largest escapade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cherub, but I do own all original characters and the story line so piss off thieves.**

In order to fund the safe houses we brought in Aaron, at the time he was a card dealer at the local casino. Strictly part time though and only to fund his multiple get-rich-quick schemes. So we brought him in and made him up all the necessary paperwork to walk in and secure a five million dollar mortgage. This isn't as easy as it sounds, we had to start up our own business and provide all the evidence that the 5 million was being used for a building project in the Wairapa. Once he had this loan he went out and purchased all our safe houses and transferred them to a different Alias. This then left his first alias with no property and a 5 million dollar debt, so falsified documents for a large land purchase in the Wairapa. Now for the tricky part. Danillyn, a 16 year old girl on the council and I hacked into the mortgage data base of the National Bank. A holding tank if you will. It stores all the records for mortgage debts over the whole of New Zealand. And we deleted our file.

Such a small insignificant word, 'deleted'. Makes it seem like I just clicked a button, not spent 48 hours in front of a computer screen until my laptop was so blurry I couldn't see what I was typing, bypassing firewalls and security blocks until I got to my file and lay a track of falsified payments until the mortgage was all paid off. My only mistake? Well a mistake I made quite purposefully. A note. In one of my fake payments I left a short message for the bankers.

"Dearest Idiots,

You've been hacked.

Trace this note and you'll be led somewhere you don't want to go.

Thank you for your time.

The Falconer

Xoxo"

What? It seemed like a good idea at the time! Cool name do if I do say so myself, controller of the falcons, the falconer.

And so it went on, taking a few hundred grand at a time, always with a different adult. Although for the big ones we always used Aaron under a new alias. He went from a small time actor to a big time crook. Once in a while we would do a good deed. If one of our own was taken in by a kind hearted family, they reported back and we paid off their mortgages. A small gesture of our thanks.

We were never caught and nothing turned up in the paper, well almost nothing.

"The Greatest Heist of our Time: 100 families' mortgages paid off."

What can I say? I was overcome with Christmas spirit, or stupidity, pick one. Kyson would probably say the second, and for good reason. We paid them all off at one time and again I left the same message, I did every time. And they finally got a clue. Falconer, Falcons. Not that hard.

They broke down the door of 559 Prince Street, home of the council, and placed both Aaron and Ky under arrest. I was shopping at the time and escaped the raid. When I got back the house was being searched. I pretended to be the neighbors' niece and walked up to officer in charge, asking what had happened. He told me it was a drug bust so I instinctively asked if he had a warrant. His eyes glistened with comprehension and he made a grab for me but I bolted for my personal safe house. Where I kept all the evidence of the crimes, the local Presbyterian. Last year the church had been put on the list of buildings impending destruction until an anonymous donor, cough me cough, donated a large sum of money to pay for repairs to the historic building. I loved that building, growing up on the streets I went there every Monday and Thursday for free food and a place to sleep, a charity that was started by Pastor Carlisle Rosavelt. He called 'a light of hope in the darkness of society'. I called him a caring uncle in a world full of wicked stepfathers. I still came every Monday and Thursday, but I was the one handing out the food now. It was how I recruited.

Now I kept all my hacking supplies in a secret cache of the building and that where I went now. I could hear a clicking of typewriter keys in the background and knew Carlisle was busy writing a new sermon, so I sat on the bench in the shadowy corner of the church and thrust the modem into the usb port of the computer. Once it was online I went through the usual firewalls and barriers of a security checkpoint and started typing:

Dearest guardians of the peace,

How very amusing it was to watch out of my car window at your minions breaking down the doors of a children's charity group. Do you really believe a hack as sophisticated as my own was preformed by a mere child?

I assume you were led down the path I laid, the mortgages paid on the so called 'safe houses' and the falcon – falconer connection. Maybe I should change my name to puppeteer? You see there is a different reason behind my alias. You believe you are free and following your leads when in reality, I control you and your actions, I am your master and you are my pets. Fly birdies.

Once again, thank you for the entertainment.

Catch me if you can.

Falconer

I deleted all cookies and traces of my activities and hid my laptop and supplies once more. The typing had stopped and I just sat patiently and waited. Carlisle entered a few moments later and I will never forget his words. 'Meggles,' he had used my pet name, 'the police are here looking for you, run, ill cover for you, they won't find you, run my dear.' I stood, took his hands in my own and shook my head.

'I can't do that Carlisle, I did nothing wrong this time.' And we both turned and faced the fully-kitted swat team. 'What a waste of tax payer funds. Let's go boys, I'm coming quietly, and ill be going shortly.'


	5. Chapter 5

I barely remember the police interrogation, it was mainly me lying, saying I was busy doing charity work when the raids happened, that I didn't have a computer and that neither did anyone in K.S.F. The only truth I told was that no one in the gang had computer training. I saw Ky and Aaron being interrogated and the police continued their rampage saying that they were blaming me for the whole thing. I'm accomplished at sensing lies and their speech reeked of mistruth. The council had their orders for when something like this happened. And they wouldn't dare double cross me.

We were all released that night, I had been in an interrogation room for 12 hours straight. They murmured something about fresh leads and new evidence when I asked for the reasoning behind our release so I assume they had found the falconers latest note. 20 minutes later we were sitting in a diner on Kay street. It was owned by the gang so of course our table had around the clock service. I was inhaling a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup. Kyson was downing his fifth coffee and Aaron was on his second plate of bacon and waffles.

'What did you do to get us released?' Straight to the point. I squeezed his Kyson's hand and wrapped my leg around his under the table.

'Teased them a bit about their raid on a kiddy gang, nothing major.'

Aaron took a breath between mouthfuls, 'You know you're not bulletproof Meg, they know where you are now, the C.P.S will be on your doorstep tomorrow.'

'I know, Kyson is going to take the kids shopping tomorrow for Christmas presents, they'll come and get me and leave the rest alone, hopefully. I'll be back by new years.'

I had been right. The next day while the others were out 'they' came.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

It was 10 oclock, i had been lying staring at the ceiling in the nauseatingly pink room for a little over an hour. Just... Thinking.

It had happened only yesterday but it felt like so long ago, i had sworn to him that day 5 years ago that the next time i saw him i would be accomplished. So much for that idea.

Leder of a youth gang wanted for criminal activities including a serious bank heist had not exactly what he had been hoping for.

The man who was at my door that morning, Jo - my thoughts were cut off by a soft tapping on the door. I said nothing, sinking lower on my bed, knowing he'd come in anyway.

He did.

I pulled my knees into my chest so he could sit on the end of the bed and we sat staring at each other in silence. Each wondering just how two people could be so alike and so different.

Kyle broke the silence, "So you're like me."

It wasn't a question.

"You've read my file, you tell me."

Silence. But not that awkward silence with both parties scrambling for something to say, it was comfortable, easy even.

It was a few minutes before one of us broke the silence.

"When are you thinking of leaving?"

"Five days at the latest, i've got to be home by New Years eve. I promised."

"Its Christmas eve in four days. You should at least stay until boxing day. I think Jemma is buying you gifts, she'll be heartbroken if you leave before you get them."

"If you say so."

You could hear a pin drop, the only sound was Kyle shuffling around so he could lay next to me, his head on the pillow beside me.

"Do you sometimes feel like you must be a freak? You know, cause with me its feels like, i dunno, like I'm sick or something, cause i don't regret it."

Kyle didn't seem shocked by my question, quite the opposite, he smiled at me. "I only regret not doing it sooner, knowing the place i'ld go now, my new home is everything and more."

"I'll admit, this place isn't that much of a prison. More like rehab, i don't want to be here but its still an awesome place to be, like limbo. My current in-between state."

"You should see the summerhouse." He jibed.

God i hope he was joking, even the way we lived, debt free in the gang, was middle income to this luxury. I made it a part of our work that we don't live like this, half our 'earnings' goes into charities.

"I should let you get some sleep." He stood up gracefully to leave.

I lay back down, staring at the familiar yellowing section of the ceiling. "Then why'd you come in?"

That stalled him momentarily. "Honestly? Jemma sent me to check that you were even still here. Goodnight."

"Night." I replied softly.

The door clicked shut behind him and i sighed. He had unintentionally reminded me off my promise, i had originally thought about sticking around. The boxing match even had me toying with the idea of living there. A fickle fantasy that passed with the adrenaline but still....

No! I had a family, a life! A loving uncle, a little brother, a boyfriend. All i needed. But was it all i wanted?

I needed security but i wanted adventure. I needed a home but i wanted danger. I needed someone to stand by me, but i wanted someone to sweep me off my feet..... "I need, to watch less tv."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey Readers, yes yes, you are angry, I am too. In respect to me I have been moving country so have had no internet, computer or spare time. On the upside I'm back now, plus my new location has given me a bout of writing diarrhea so YAY ******

**Response to reviews:**

**Praksta-4-lyf: Yes I wanted to do New Zealand one as it seemed there was very few of them, and no the falcons are not a real gang but are based on one of the youth gangs I associated with and interviewed in West Auckland. Very interesting people, if a touch wrong in the head.**

**?tab?: Cannot remember if I replied to you but here it is, I have lived in various countries. As it happens I did live in New Zealand for a time and must say it was not only beautiful but a vivid and friendly place. I would definitely live there again, perhaps when that quirky she-he is back in government, she seemed lovely ******

**.dreams: love the name, understand your angst, hate Microsoft word lol, so used to them correcting it I didn't even look, sorry.**

The ruler slammed onto the desk with a deafening CRACK!

I pulled my head up from where it rested on my paper and peered groggily at Jemma.

"What!?" I snapped.

Jemma scowled, straightening her pencil skirt. "You are supposed to be doing your work."

I lifted the paper I had been resting on blearily up to her, once she took it I leaned my chair back, tilting onto the back legs and resting my feet on the table. Jemmas eyes flickered across the paper. Her lips pursed, she crumpled the paper into a ball and slammed down the next test. This routine had been going on since 7 o'clock this morning. I had been woken at 5 to prepare, that's about 5 hours earlier then I would have liked. Since seven I had done several tests. English, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, calculus, chemistry, biology, human biology, physics, Japanese, history and just now, geology and map plotting. It was, I guess, a test to see what level I was at in each subject, I'm pretty sure I had aced all but the Japanese. My father had never been stationed there so I spoke only what one of the officers had attempted to teach me.

"Another pass, good work. You've finished early so you may go spend some time having fun while I prepare your school program."

"How long will that take?" I asked, rising from my chair.

"You may return tomorrow." I was dismissed.

Before I left I stared cockily at her, almost glaring, "I'm also fluent in Scandinavian and Turkish."

As I left the dining room to go upstairs I heard a cough from up the corridor. Obviously, as nosy as I am I followed the sound. Two doors up on the left side. The door was open and inside was my three co-residents all hard at work. Tom sat at the desk closest to me, his forehead screwed up in concentration but his pencil left unused beside the test paper. Terry sat right next to Tom, his pen scrawling quickly across the sheet, his last by the looks of things. Strangely though Kyle wasn't seated in the third chair but on the head of the room, finishing an elaborate calculus equation, from the parts not obscured by his back it was Navier–Stokes equation in relation to rocket propulsion using liquid fuel and aerosol. There were no books near him so he seemed to be pulling it out of his head.

I leaned softly against the door frame and Kyle turned, winked, and then resumed his calculation. I stood watching him for quite some time, I don't know when he finished his work, or when he started eating lunch, or checked the boys work. Everything was so fluid and perfectly scripted, like a movie.

Kyle smiled, Tom laughed. I stared.

Terry looked up at the clock mounted above the chalkboard, swept his pens and pencils into his pencil case and pushed past me out of the room. Tom was equally as quick but slightly more awkward, dropping several of his pens and having to duck under his desk to get them, before shunting me out of the way, screaming at Terry to wait for him. After regaining my equilibrium I looked around the doorframe into the room.

"Hello."

Kyle was leaning against the wall beside the door. His voice, so close to mine, startled me and he chuckled.

"How'd your test go?"

I shrugged and stepped into the room, the door clicked shut behind me. My hands clasped the side of tom's desk and I launched myself up until my shoes were firmly on the wood. Standing I turned to face Kyle who was staring at me strangely, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"Piece of piss." I answered, smoothly jumping from one desk to the next.

"So?"

I jumped to the next desk, spinning in midair so when I landed on my toes on the wooden finish I was staring into his deep moss green eyes. In a moment of weakness, I giggled. "So what?"

Kyle bit his bottom lip, god he looked sexy when he did that.

"So what did you think?"

I assumed he meant the curriculum, but I answered it about the exam, "More like an interrogation if you ask me. I mean what sort of school teaches map plotting?" I thumped down onto the desk, my legs swinging childishly off the side.

He shifted his weight to the other foot but his eyes were still locked on mine. "Jemma teaches it because most fosters here go into the army."

I nodded, got mesmerized by his eyes and looked away. "Weird."

I again noticed the calculation on the board by the head of the room. "You're wrong by the way."

"About what?" His silky voice came from right beside me now. He had moved closer to my desk and his hands were creeping along the wooden surface to my jeans.

My eyes flicked between his hand, my ass, his hand, his eyes, my ass. And then I jumped off the desk, clearing my throat of the nervous bile resting there. "The equation," I stuttered, half-running to the board. "Its propulsion time's gravity times the rest of the equation, not just propulsion; otherwise your schematics will be off." I drew a small 'g' next to the 'p' in the second line to indicate what I meant and felt fingers creep up my arm holding the chalk.

"I like my girls to know their maths." His voice came silkily from beside me, his lips so close to my ear I shivered slightly. His fingers were snaked around my wrist. The chalk I had been holding clattered to the floor and broke in half on impact.

"I thought you didn't like gi-"

I was swung around by my wrist sand pushed roughly against the chalkboard. I could've had him in a chokehold but I chose to ignore my instinct, and my brain, as his lips drew closer and closer to mine.


End file.
